Mr. Hurd wheeled his pony round. "I submitted your letter to Miss Thorpe-Hatton," he said. "She agrees with me that your ministrations are wholly unnecessary here. I wish you good evening!" The young man caught for a moment at the pony's rein. "One moment, sir," he begged. "You do not object to my appealing to Miss Thorpe-Hatton herself?" A grim, mirthless smile parted the agent's lips. "By no means!" he answered, as he cantered off. Victor Macheson stood for a moment watching the retreating figure. Then he looked across the park to where, through the great elm avenues, he could catch a glimpse of the house. A humorous smile suddenly brightened his face. "It's got to be done!" he said to himself. "Here goes!" CHAPTER II THE HUNTER AND HIS QUARRY The mistress of Thorpe stooped to pat a black Pomeranian which had rushed out to meet her. It was when she indulged in some such movement that one realized more thoroughly the wonderful grace of her slim, supple figure. She who hated all manner of exercise had the ease of carriage and flexibility of one whose life had been spent in athletic pursuits. "How are you all?" she remarked languidly. "Shocking hostess, am I not?" A fair-haired little woman turned away from the tea-table. She held a chocolate éclair in one hand, and a cup of Russian tea in the other. Her eyes were very dark, and her hair very yellow--and both were perfectly and unexpectedly natural. Her real name was Lady Margaret Penshore, but she was known to her intimates, and to the mysterious individuals who write under a _nom-de-guerre_ in the society papers, as "Lady Peggy." "A little casual perhaps, my dear Wilhelmina," she remarked. "Comes from your association with Royalty, I suppose. Try one of your own caviare sandwiches, if you want anything to eat. They're ripping." Wilhelmina--she was one of the few women of her set with whose Christian name no one had ever attempted to take any liberties--approached the tea-table and studied its burden. There were a dozen different sorts of sandwiches arranged in the most tempting form, hot-water dishes with delicately browned tea-cakes simmering gently, thick cream in silver jugs, tea and coffee, and in the background old China dishes piled with freshly gathered strawberries and peaches and grapes, on which the bloom still rested. On a smaller table were flasks of liqueurs and a spirit decanter. "Anyhow," she remarked, pouring herself out some tea, "I do feed you people well. And as to being casual, I warned you that I never put in an appearance before five." A man in the background, long and lantern-faced, a man whose age it would have been as impossible to guess as his character, opened and closed his watch with a clink. "Twenty minutes past," he remarked. "To be exact, twenty-two minutes past." His hostess turned and regarded him contemplatively.